


A Present a Day

by emma98



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, So lets give him twenty-five days of presents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, more corniness than a field in Ohio in September, sass and humor, the author really just wants to lavish Steve with happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma98/pseuds/emma98
Summary: Steve Rogers thinks Secret Santa activities are a very bad idea.  So he nixes Darcy Lewis' plans to organize one.
Like being told 'no' ever stopped Darcy before.  She and the rest of Team Cap make this Christmas a very special one for Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A very happy holidays to all the voyagers aboard the SS Shieldshock! 
> 
> I don't know how I thought I could keep this under a certain word count. (I can never keep anything under a certain word count). 
> 
> I just really wanted to write a bunch of fluff where Steve gets all the presents. So I did.

**December 1st**

* * *

 

It wasn’t all that unusual for something delicious and freshly baked to be sitting on the large butcher block topped kitchen island in the main house of the Secret Avenger’s facility.  Steve would find himself wandering in there at least half a dozen times a day.  Banana muffins with chocolate chips with still warm centers at dawn’s early light.  Freshly made granola bars by ten in the morning. Sandwiches on fresh baked bread at lunch.  Steve’s personal favorite chocolate chip cookies by half past three.  And then of course, dinner had to have some kind of freshly baked roll or cornbread.  And nighttime meant cake.  Thickly frosted, delicious cake.

 

There was a two way tie for the team’s most valuable player at this point.  Laura Barton, who had taken it upon herself to organize the rations and to do the bulk of the work for the group meals, which were usually everyday.  She took a day off a week, and everyone (all thirteen of them) on base would have to fend for themselves with what little rations were left over.

 

And Thor was in the running for MVP as well.  Thor, who came a few months ago with Doctor Jane Foster and Ms. Darcy Lewis, and somehow he had fixed the ovens with a bit of eternal fire, and now Mrs. Barton no longer had to cook the meals on a campfire.  And of course with the fire, came the baked goods that Steve was so fond of.

 

It was odd though, that when Steve woke up, heading out of the modest cabin that was his quarters at the new facility, hoping that there would be cinnamon rolls in the kitchen for him to gorge himself on after his run, that there was a small little box waiting for him in front of his door.  Six inches by six inches by six inches, shiny red with a green velvet bow.  He smiled at the sight of it.  

 

And when he opened it, his grin grew brighter.  Because inside was a very large cinnamon roll, sitting securely in a small bowl, still so piping hot that the cream cheese icing was dripping down the sides of it.  There was no note attached, simply the number 1 written on the inside of the top of the box.

 

He ate it before his run, and it tasted even better than it looked.  And that was saying something.

 

When he meandered into the kitchen, hoping to find more cinnamon rolls, he was surprised to see Laura Barton and Wanda standing there with mugs of coffee and blueberry muffins.

 

“Where are the cinnamon rolls?” Steve didn’t  _ pout _ , he just sort of looked  a tiny bit disappointed.

 

“We didn’t make cinnamon rolls today,” Laura blinked up at him in confusion.  “Blueberry muffin day.  That’s what was left for me to mix up.  We had to use up the blueberries before they went off.”

 

“I had a cinnamon roll at my door this morning,” Steve shrugged.  “It was delicious, whoever made it.”

 

“Uhoh, secret admirer?” Laura asked, and smiled as Wanda giggled.  The girl’s giggles were much too few and far between.

 

“I’d believe that if you weren’t the one doing the baking,” Steve arched a suspicious brow at her.  

 

“Wasn’t me,” Laura blinked at him innocently.  She arched a dubious eyebrow at Steve and said, “Steve, I’m not the baker around here, I thought you knew that.  I just follow instructions when the baker can’t bother to wake up early enough.”

 

“Sure,” Steve nodded.  He gave her a little wink and  smirk, “I won’t tell Barton you secretly admire me.”

 

“Ass,” Laura rolled her eyes.  “Captain Ass-merica.”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 2nd**

 

Steve opened his door the next morning, hoping that Laura had decided to make it a tradition to leave him cinnamon rolls every morning, but instead, there was a much larger box sitting on his front porch.  He blinked at it curiously, wondering what was going on.  

 

He hadn’t approved the Secret Santa that Foster’s assistant had proposed (Darcy, her name was Darcy and she was funny and sweet and gorgeous and Steve had hated himself for days after saying no to her festive suggestion).  No one actually had the means of buying gifts.  Money wasn’t scarce, exactly, but it was tied up in building the base the right way.  And they couldn’t exactly order something up on ebay and have it delivered to the secret base.  

 

And as far as homemade gifts went, it didn’t seem fair for Laura to bake for people, and Darcy to knit amazing things, and then in turn have their secret Santa be someone that would give them twigs stacked up into a little pile, or worse, something made out of animal droppings and/or pelts (Clint.  It would definitely be Clint doing something like that).

 

Darcy had been quietly disappointed when Steve had nixed her secret santa idea.  She’d been mopey for a little while, until Natasha had made her run a mile to prove that she could technically run and not have her lungs explode from the exertion.  Whatever Natasha had done on their little exercise journey had picked Darcy right back up, and Secret Santa was never spoken of again.  

 

She hadn’t spoken to Steve either.  And he couldn’t help but suspect that Darcy thought of him as  a bit of a killjoy.  She’d only been hoping to spread a little Christmas cheer and he’d crushed her hopes mercilessly.  He felt like a supreme asshole and every time Darcy’s usual cheer and verve would quieten when he entered the room, he felt like an even bigger asshole.  They’d become friends in the few months they’d both been at the new base of operations.  Steve had talked to Darcy at least once a day for the last six months, and then he’d rebuffed her Christmas idea and she’d not spoken to him in a week.

 

Steve hated that.  A lot.

 

He picked up the heavy box, shiny red paper and velvety green bow just like the day prior, and opened the lid.  On the top of the inside of the lid was a number two in glittery gold. And inside the box was a record player.  It wasn’t vintage.  Steve was happy to see that.  It looked vintage and was definitely a record player, but it had powerful speakers built into the box, and also had usb slots so that ipods could be plugged in.  He grinned at that.  

 

He didn’t have records to play, but he did have an ipod.

 

After carefully placing the record player on his newly built bookshelf, he ran out into the base grounds and caught up with Sam easily as the man was getting in his morning miles.

 

“I told you, Steve, you’re not allowed to run with me anymore,” Sam huffed.  “We discussed my fragile ego.  Do you want me to draw the diagram again?”

 

“No, no diagrams,” Steve shook his head.  “Just wanted to say thanks for the record player...it’s really amazing.  And you didn’t have to get it for me.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about---man, are you SKIPPING beside me?” Sam demanded as he forced himself into a full out sprint and Steve only made bigger skips to keep pace.  “Asshole, go back to your old-timey record player and be old.”

 

“So salty,” Steve shook his head in amusement as he added big swinging arms to his obnoxious skipping.

 

“I told Cooper to stop teaching you shit like that!”

 

* * *

 

**December 3rd**

 

Steve yanked open his cabin door on the third day of December eagerly, looking at the ground where a flat package wrapped in red shiny paper with a green velvety bow sat.  He eagerly grabbed it up and looked inside.  

 

Two records.  Ella Fitzgerald’s Greatest Hits and Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814.

 

He spent all day listening to them alternately.  And as much as he loved Ella, he really did enjoy Ms. Jackson’s music as well.

 

Sam denied taking credit for the gift, but commended the gift giver on their taste in music.

 

* * *

 

**December 4th**

 

Steve got up a little earlier and peeked out the windows of his cabin to see if he could catch his gift giver in the act.  But the gift was already there.  He was a little disappointed, but certainly not enough to stop himself from rushing for the gift box that looked suspiciously like a clothing gift box.  Inside was a football jersey.

 

Green and Gold.  The number four embroidered on it.  Favre written on the back.

 

The  quarterback had retired before Steve got out of the ice (for the last time).   But a reporter had compared Steve to him in an article and Steve had to look him up.  

 

He’d liked Brett Favre no matter what team the man had been playing for.  The quarterback had true grit and never knew when to stay down after a hard hit.  Steve could relate to that.

 

He ran towards the Barton cabin and pounded on the door.  

 

“DUDE,” Barton hissed at him when he opened the door to glare at Steve.  “The kids are staying at Lang’s for a sleepover with Cassie and it’s not Laura’s day to cook.  What could you possibly want?!?”

 

Steve blinked at Barton.  Naked as a jaybird.  With only a pillow haphazardly covering the Barton twig and berries.

 

“Thanks for the jersey?” Steve held up the football jersey.

 

“Not from me,” Clint rolled his eyes.  “Although, pretty sweet jersey.  That’s authentic.”

  
Steve furrowed his brow.  His friends had to be playing a Christmas prank on him.  Barton was the only one who he talked football with.  Sam, as a  staunch supporter of the Seahawks always refused to listen to Steve rhapsodize about Favre’s greatness. Scott always told him he didn’t get football.  Or any sports balls.

 

“Tell Steve to FUCK OFF!” Laura screamed from the upstairs bedroom.

 

“Sorry Cap,” Clint smirked.  “Duty calls.”

* * *

 

**December 5th**

 

Steve got up even earlier.  He still missed the person leaving him gifts.  

 

The albums were wrapped the same way everything else had been.  He carefully placed the emerald green velvet bow with the others and looked at the two records.  

 

Rolling Stones “Let it Bleed” and Foo Fighters “In Your Honor”.

 

He spent five hours in his cabin listening to the songs over and over again, then added the earlier albums for good measure.  He and Bucky had always loved music while growing up, but there was something to be said about the newer styles of music that they had missed while on ice.  There was something to be said about hearing  a person scream for all they were worth.  

 

Steve wished someday he could scream for all he was worth.  Just to feel what it felt like.

* * *

 

**December 6th**

 

Steve finally knew who his secret Santa was.  Because the sixth gift he received was a cask of Asgardian meade.  The  _ really _ good stuff that had had him tipsy at the party the night Ultron was created and unleashed upon them.

 

He didn’t run straight to the cabin that Jane Foster inhabited sporadically (when Thor wasn’t carting her off on interdimensional jaunts).  He’d learned his lesson after interrupting Barton spouse private time.  He didn’t need to see Thor with a pillow covering the Odinson’s royal jewels (that was assuming Thor would have the presence of mind to cover up before answering the door).

 

He went to group breakfast and waited for Dr. Foster, aka, the gift giver, to enter (with Darcy pushing her in forcefully).  Laura was watching with avid curiosity as he waited, his stack of pancakes going untouched.  

 

“Who are you watching the door for, Steve?” Wanda asked.  Laura would have remained silent for ages, and Wanda didn’t have the patience for that.  

 

“What?” Steve looked up at the young woman and shrugged.  “Doesn’t Doctor Foster usually come in by now?” 

 

“Usually, yes, she does,” Laura nodded.  “But she’s in Asgard for the holidays, she won’t be back until mid January, we think.”

 

“Oh, I had wanted to thank her,” Steve frowned.  He tapped his fork tines against the stack of pancakes thoughtfully, watching the thick maple syrup pull up in amber strands.  His mouth opened of its own accord and he tried (and failed) to sound nonchalant,  “Did Miss Lewis go with her?”

 

“No, she was invited, but politely declined.  She had something else to do,” Laura had a soft smile on her face as she surveyed Steve’s reaction carefully.  She patted on his shoulder before advising, “Eat your pancakes, they’re getting cold.”

* * *

 

**December 7th**

 

Steve opened his door in the morning to see four adorable children standing on his little wooden porch, all dressed as tiny elves.  Cooper Barton looked slightly annoyed at having to play dress up, as he was getting near his teens and always got slightly annoyed at everything.  Lila and Cassie looked absolutely euphoric, but whenever they were in each other’s company, they were quite often euphoric.  Or plotting, or both.  And Nathaniel Barton, one and a half, was standing between the girls, his cheeks bulging out with what Steve thought was a marshmallow.  

 

“Jingle bells Jingle bells jingle all the way!” the girls began to sing.  Nathaniel sang along more with sounds and squeals, but the jumping sort of squirmy dance made up for it.  

 

“Hi Uncle Steve,” Cooper gave him a sheepish smile.  It had taken the boy an awful long time to stop calling him Captain America.  Then he’d taken to calling Steve  _ Uncle _ Captain America for a few months until finally, Darcy had spoken a few private words to the boy after an awkward moment at dinner where Steve had tried to patiently explain that he was no longer Captain America.  He had been Uncle Steve to the children ever since, and something really warmed him through and through to hear it.

 

“Good morning,” Steve chuckled, taking the thermos that the oldest Barton boy handed to him.  He noticed that it was large, red and had a green velvet bow on the top of it.  “This my present for the day?”

 

“Homemade hot chocolate!” Lila announced.

 

“And marshmallows!” Cassie waved the bag in her free hand.  

 

Nathaniel made a high pitched noise of joy behind his mouth full of marshmallow.  

 

“Okay, come in, come out of the cold,” Steve ushered each child in eagerly.  He had been intent on getting to base headquarters and going over the latest chatter feed that had already been summarized by Maria Hill, just in case she missed something, but his plans could be easily cast aside to spend time with the children.  He really did love spending time with them.  “I think I still have some of those oreos that Sam brought back for me on his last trip to civilization.”

 

“YES!” Lila clenched a fist in righteous victory.

 

“So----who made this hot chocolate?” Steve wondered as he fished out mugs and poured some hot chocolate from the thermos into each of them.  Cassie popped marshmallows into each mug, pausing midway to cram another into Nathaniel’s wide open mouth as he whined for more.

 

“Someone super nice,” Lila teased.  

 

Steve took a sip, it was piping hot and the marshmallow had already begun to melt.  The taste on his tongue was rich and decadent, almost obscenely so.  They weren’t given that much chocolate as part of their monthly rations.  In order to pull this off, someone had to have been saving for at least two months.  

 

“Someone super awesome,” Cassie added.

 

“Mmpphhaaa,” Nathaniel added.

 

“Someone cool,” Cooper shrugged.  “And we’re not telling you who it is, Uncle Steve. Sorry.  She made us do the holy pinky swear.”

 

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want you to break that,” Steve said with all the mock seriousness he could.  He took another sip of the hot chocolate and savored the heavy taste on his tongue.  Cooper had given him a hint though.   _ She _ .  “Do you guys want to watch one of the Bob Ross DVDs with me?”

 

“YES!”

 

* * *

 

**December 8th**

 

Steve was disappointed that morning when there was no gift, and no emissaries bringing the gift the next morning of December.  He was subdued as he walked to the main cabin.  He was sulking as he poured his coffee.  And he was downright morose and pitiable by the time Scott came in with a filing box in his hands.  

 

“Ahhh man, muffins again?” Scott whined as he watched Steve slather butter over top of a still warm banana nut muffin.  “When’s Darcy getting back anyway?  I’m sick of this muffin for breakfast crap.  Variety is the spice of life and Laura’s got to be running low on the Darcy muffin mix by now.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Steve demanded, his words muffled by the large bite of muffin.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Scott curiously.  “And where is Darcy?”

 

“What?  I love muffins, nevermind,” Scott said quickly, grabbing the rest of Steve’s muffin and jamming it in his mouth.  “Mmmmmm muffin.”

Steve was not about to be derailed.  Laura had told him that Darcy wasn’t with Jane and Thor off planet.  But he hadn’t seen her in days.  He hadn’t seen her since November 30th, to be precise, when she was standing at Helen Cho’s new cabin, doing some secret handshake with a container full of sugar in her hand.  

 

Darcy wasn’t being forced to stay on the secret base, he wouldn’t want to hold any one against their will.  But it wasn’t safe to go out without proper security.  And Steve knows she didn’t have the proper security to be out and about.  He would have had to approve it.

 

“Where is---”

 

“So, what’s in the box, I know you’re dying to know,” Scott nodded.  He opened it and lying on top was an ipad with a green velvet bow.  Scott took it out, taking the bow and placing it on Steve’s right pec with a satisfied little smirk on his face.  He then turned on the ipad and a facetime call was already in place.

 

“Ohhhh, hey dude!” Luis’s face took up the entirety of the screen.  “Happy Eighth of December, man.  It’s a good day, you know, because national brownie day…”

 

Scott placed a small, saran wrapped plate in front of Steve with four little squares of chocolatey looking brownies.  Steve felt a little drool accumulate on the side of his mouth.  Natasha had always joked that brownies were his kryptonite.  Whenever she had wanted him to do something for her back in DC, she’d somehow always managed to have a tin full of delicious homemade brownies (Natasha didn’t even have a working stove).  

 

Steve took a swig of coffee to clean his palate before ripping the saran wrap off of the plate and popping one of the small squares into his mouth.  He was hit with a sense memory so intense that he had to close his eyes.  He remembered a cold morning in March, 2014, when Natasha had wanted him to provide her with distraction at a lady’s lunch in Washington DC.  She’s had a tin of brownies for him before and promised him that it wouldn’t be so bad and it wouldn’t take her long to get the info she needed from the emissary’s wife.  

 

He’d happily taken the second tin of brownies after the four hour debacle of getting hit on by the congregation of elderly ladies who had been the very same chorus girls he had toured with back in the forties.  He figured after that debacle, Natasha owed him brownies for years.  And the morsel he had just devoured were the very same brownies he’d had back then.  

 

“What---what are you doing?” Steve blinked at what Scott was setting up.  There were three ipads in total.  One containing the face of each one of Scott’s friends.  Dave was in France, working with Sharon Carter to obtain intel on what her old bosses at the CIA were up to.  Kurt was in China, using some surprising business acumen to accumulate funds for the secret Avengers.  And Luis, Luis was in New York City, working directly under Fury now, working as head of communications for the Secret Avengers.

 

“We---are playing Dungeons and Dragons,” Scott announced with manic glee.  

 

Steve’s mouth twitched into a smile.  

 

It was a very well protected secret that he really enjoyed dungeons and dragons.  Clint had set him up with a few SHIELD agents who had liked it back in DC, thinking it would be a perfect fit for his imagination and his tactician skills.  He’d loved it.  Out of all the things in the twenty-first century, it was the one he was probably most excited about to show to Bucky when he woke up. 

 

Well, Dungeons and Dragons, really amazing brownies, and Pinterest.  Bucky would really love Pinterest.

 

“Alright, I’m ready,” Steve nodded.  “Who is our dungeon master?”

 

“Who do you think, son?” Luis asked excitedly waving his hand excitedly.  “Alright, for real, let’s get about thirty things out of the way first…”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 9th**

 

“Is she with you?” Steve demanded over the satellite phone.

 

He’d spent the entire night awake after finally walking away from a victorious campaign with Scott and the Three Wombats.  He’d still been concerned about Darcy, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get the answers he needed at that moment.  There was a very specific window of time to be able to call Natasha when she was on one of her missions.  And there was a very complicated series of events that he had to do in order to get the number to call her.

 

One of the things required was a ridiculous game of lo-tech cellular gaming called ‘Snake’.  Steve had had to call in reinforcements to complete that step.  Doctor Helen Cho had not been amused, but seeing as she had no answers about Darcy’s whereabouts, she had no choice but to help him out.

 

“Is who with me?” Natasha responded in that horribly vague, mocking way she had.

 

“You know damned well who,” Steve grumbled at her.  “Darcy’s been off base for at least a week.”

 

“Eight days, but who’s counting?” Natasha’s insolent shrug could be heard over the line.  “Oh wait---you are.  Why is that?”

 

“She’s a part of this base, she’s a part of this operation, which means I’m ultimately responsible for her safety,” Steve reminded his friend.  “Nat, stop playing games.  Just tell me she’s safe.”

 

“She’s fine,” Natasha promised, her voice suddenly soft.  “She’ll be back soon.”

  
“Do you want to tell me what she’s doing?” Steve wondered, his voice less harsh than it was moments before.  Just knowing that the scrappy little assistant/caretaker/self described badass was okay had calmed him considerably.  

 

“Getting a Christmas present,” Natasha answered honestly.  “I have to go shoot at someone now, do you want to stay on the line?  You know how annoyed I get when I have to put a call on speaker phone.”

 

“No---just, if you need me, if something goes wrong with whatever it is you and Darcy are doing, will you please let me know?” Steve asked, his voice a soft pleading thing.  

 

“Yeah, sure, go to your door, you have another gift waiting, I’d wager,” Natasha told him before abruptly ending the call.  

 

Steve sighed and rose, going to his front door and opening the door to see another present wrapped in red, along with a velvet green bow.  The box was about the same size as the first box and he opened it up to see the gold number 9 on the lid, and hidden beneath some tissue paper was a box full of zagnut candy bars and chick-o-sticks.  

 

His favorite candy from a lifetime ago.  He’d only told one person about that, that he knew  of.

 

“Where are you Darcy?”

 

* * *

 

**December 10th**

 

Steve opened his door to see Clint standing there with a green velvet bow stuck to the middle of his forehead.

 

“Seriously?” Steve blinked at him.

 

“Merry Christmas, Rogers!” Clint beamed at him.

 

“I’d like to return you to the mysterious secret santa,” Steve said seriously.  “But seeing as Darcy is off base.”

 

“Damn, Laura knew you’d figure it out sooner rather than later,” Clint sighed as Steve reached out and grabbed the ribbon off his head and took it into his cabin, placing it in the pile of ribbons he’d collected so far.  

 

“What exactly are you supposed to be, you know, gift-wise?” Steve wondered.  “I prefered the candy.”

 

  
“Harsh dude,”” Clint scolded.  He reached around to his waistband and pulled out two handguns.  “We’re going shooting.”

 

“I don’t like shooting,” Steve said honestly.  He shrugged and admitted, “I’m terrible at it.  You know that.  Even Bucky could never teach me how to shoot accurately.”

 

“Well, Bucky is the world’s second best marksman,” Clint said confidently.  “ _ And _ , he never had three kids.  If I can teach Cooper how to do pre-algebra, I can teach you how to shoot.  Let’s go.”

 

“I really preferred the candy...or even the dungeons and dragons,” Steve hedged.  

 

“There’s deer jerky and a cold case of beer waiting at the shooting range,” Clint promised.

 

“What kind of beer?” Steve wisely asked.

 

“The one that tastes like root beer, since you have the tastebuds of a twelve year old.  C’mon, Steve.  You’ll have fun, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 11th**

 

“Yo,” Laura grinned, already sitting on the couch, with Nathaniel sitting in her lap when Steve emerged from his bedroom.   Nathaniel held the green velvet ribbon in his hands and he excitedly waved it at Steve.

 

“Good morning,” Steve answered.  He looked around suspiciously.  “What exactly are we doing today?”

 

“Watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer together,” Laura answered, holding up a set of DVD’s as Nathaniel climbed off of his mother’s lap and ran for Steve.  “It’s better to watch with a friend.”

 

“I’ll bet,” Steve nodded.  “Breakfast?”   
  


“Three waffle sandwiches on the counter.   Extra bacon,” Laura winked.

 

“You’re a saint,” Steve sighed.

 

“I’m not, it was secret santa who gave up her bacon ration for those,” Laura admitted.  

 

“Why’s she doing it?” Steve wondered as he grabbed the plate full of waffle sandwiches that contained fried eggs, cheese and copious amounts of thick bacon.  “I told her no---I thought she was mad at me.”

 

“Steve, the only reason Darcy asked to do it in the first place was because she thought it would be odd to have you be the only one getting gifts,” Laura said patiently.  “She wanted to give you these things.”

 

“Why?” Steve couldn’t comprehend it.  It had been eleven days of thoughtfulness and he didn’t know why he deserved it and he had no problem in opening his mouth and admitting, “I don’t deserve all this---”

 

“And that’s exactly why she’s doing it,” Laura said softly.  “Because you do deserve it.  You went through hell this year.   You went through hell these past few years of your life.  With Bucky putting himself back into a chest freezer, you were running yourself ragged trying to come up with a way to bring him back, and rescue everyone from the raft, and then set up this place, and keep on trying to be some indestructible superhero.  You need a break, and you need joy.  And you need happiness and Darcy noticed that straight away.”

 

“She did?” Steve looked down at his massive breakfast.  “She never said anything.”

 

“Sure, because you would have taken all this pampering with no complaints,” Laura laughed.  “Sam had to tie you down to get a splint on your fingers a few months ago.”

 

“Where is she?” Steve whispered, suddenly feeling a little shy.

 

“She’s getting you something else,” Laura smiled.  “She’s absolutely safe.  Don’t worry.”

 

“Okay,” Steve nodded, even though they both knew that he would still worry.  “What can I get her in return?”

 

“Enjoy the next few days and what she’s planned,” Laura advised. “It will be all the reward she needs, I promise.”

 

“Laura, I couldn’t---I have to do  _ something _ ,” Steve argued.

 

“The joy in giving gifts isn’t expecting something in return,” Laura said in that soft mothering tone that had the power to stop hyperactive pre-teens in their tracks.  Steve was cowed by it well enough too.  “The joy is  _ giving _ the joy.  Let her give this to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 12th**

 

“Phone call.”

 

Steve blinked at Maria Hill, who held a satellite phone with a green velvet bow on it.  

 

“I ate the fancy pretzels she made you,” Maria said with all her usual drab, business-like demeanor.  She raised an eyebrow at him and said, “They’re delicious and I have never been one to have strength in refusing them.  I once locked Rumlow in a closet back at the Triskelion to get them.”

 

“But they were  _ mine _ ,” Steve said with a small, droll smirk on his face.

 

“I got you a phone call instead, Rogers,” Maria scoffed at him.  “Stop being a pissbaby and take it.”

 

Steve grabbed the phone from her, wondering what on Earth Maria was even doing on the base.  She was supposed to be in DC, working on undermining the last few months of Ross’s tenure as Secretary of State.  He’d have to ask her later.

 

“Hello?” the voice shouted from the other end of the line.

 

He recognized that voice.  He’d talked a lot with that voice in the months leading up to him saying  _ no _ to the owner of that voice regarding a Secret Santa exchange.  They’d become something like friends.  Close friends before he’d been a grinch and ruined her Christmas plans.  Well not ruined them, because she was still enacting her Christmas plans.

 

“Darcy?” He questioned.

 

“Oh!  Hi!” Darcy answered, sounding surprised and a little worried.  “You’re not calling me Miss Lewis anymore.”

 

“Would you prefer---”

 

“No, of course not, I’ve  been telling you to call me Darcy for six months now,” Darcy reminded him, the hint of amusement and laughter in her voice.

 

“I”m thickheaded and don’t take direction too well,” Steve admitted with no small amount of humor.  “Darcy---thank you for all of the gifts, you didn’t have to do that.”

  
“We’ll agree to disagree there, Steve,” Darcy said firmly, her tone not leaving any space in between for argument.  “Today you were supposed to get the pretzels and Maria was supposed to take you to town to get the supplies.  You haven’t left camp in months.”

 

“Why would I leave when everything I needed or wanted was right here?” Steve wondered.

 

Darcy was silent for a few extended moments and Steve fretted for a moment that the statement was a little too heartfelt.  He might have made her feel uncomfortable with that.  She had wanted to be his friend.  She had said as much six months ago when Thor had introduced them.  She said all of her closest acquaintances in the past had been World War Two veterans and she expected him to fall in line.  He’d chuckled at that, imagining the feisty, brilliant, gorgeous bombshell going around and making friends with men past the eighty year mark.  

 

He’d actually made a joke about her scoping out nursing homes for future best pals.  

 

She’s snorted with laughter and Steve had been immediately transfixed from that moment on.

 

“Not everything,” Darcy disputed softly.  “But soon.”

 

“What are you up to, Darcy?” Steve wondered.  

 

“Giving you a really nice Christmas,” Darcy promised.  “Whether you like it or not.”

 

“I like it.  I like it a lot,” Steve promised.  “That cinnamon roll was the best I’d ever had.  I didn’t know---how did I not know that you were doing the baking here?”

 

“You’re kind of oblivious?” Darcy laughed, a sound that Steve kind of felt was his gift for the day.  

 

“I am, some of the time,” Steve admitted with humility.  He’d been spending a lot of time making himself busy, reading reports, watching surveillance, doing a lot of things that weren’t really his responsibility because he had thought he  _ should _ be doing something.  But he hadn’t been doing much of that lately.  Not since the gifts started arriving.  “I’m working on it.”

 

“Yeah, I bet.  So, did you enjoy the records?” Darcy wondered.

  
“I did,” Steve admitted quickly.  “I really liked the Janet Jackson one, lots of good dancing music on that record.”

 

“Hmmm,” Darcy hummed, clearly a little distracted on her end.  “So---okay, I have to go.”

  
  


“Darcy, are you okay?  Truly?” Steve worried.

 

“I’m truly, very much okay,” Darcy promised.  “If Maria stole your pretzels, go to the gym, and hidden on the stack of step aerobic stairs that no one ever uses is another bag.  Enjoy them and do me a favor and take a nice long walk around the forest.  Pick out  the best tree and chop it down and get it ready for decorating, okay?”

 

“Alright.  Darcy---”

 

“I have to go, I’ll see you soon!” she said quickly before hanging up abruptly.  

 

“Bye,” Steve said, looking down at the phone.  He removed the bow and placed it in the stack before tucking the phone in the back pocket of his pants.  “Okay----Christmas tree.”

 

* * *

 

**December 13th**

 

Sam was on the other side of his door that morning with a truly comically huge bag of popcorn.  Wanda was behind Sam with a clear plastic container full of the dreaded crafting supplies.  The crafting supplies were dreaded, because the ladies and Barton and Sam insisted on doing crafts.  But it was a kind of violent and angry activity, filled with hot glue, and complaining and a lot of swearing.

 

Darcy had referred to it as crabby craft time.  It was a suitable name for the session.  

 

Steve had usually refrained.  But Sam handed him a gift wrapped in shiny red paper and a bow, and inside were another three albums.   The Les Miserables 20th Anniversary Concert and the Original Broadway Cast recording of  _ You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown _ , and finally  _ Hamilton. _

 

“Crabby craft time.  Laura’ll be around with fuel and Scott,” Sam revealed.  “We’re gonna stuff our faces, sing along to Broadway songs and make popcorn decorations for the main hall.”

 

Steve looked at the albums, his eyes quickly scanning over song titles.  He smiled as Sam and Wanda quickly set up shop, dumping spray cans of glitter on Steve’s coffee table and starting in on complaining about how Clint always took the smelliest of bathroom breaks in communal bathrooms.  

 

“C’mon, Cap, put on Les Mis, first.  I make a really kick ass Javert,” Sam insisted.  

 

“I like to be Javert,” Wanda argued, with a teasing smirk on her mouth.

 

“Woman,” Sam held up his hand.  “You can be Cosette.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare!”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 14th**

 

Steve woke up the morning of the Fourteenth of December decidedly  _ happy _ .

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with such a light heart.  His last few years both before and after the ice had been filled with worry and fear and desolation and hopelessness.  He had woken up every day tense and ready to  _ fight _ .

 

And now, he woke up with excitement wondering what Darcy Claus had left him this time.

 

It was a  _ really _ big box this time.  He knew he’d have to surrender the box once he got whatever was inside for the kids.   They’d taken the boxes that the refrigerators had been delivered in and built box city, or what Cooper had named Cardboard Heights  That had kept them occupied and content for the entirety of July.

 

He pulled off the big lid and grinned at the bright gold 14 painted on the inside of it.  And then he felt a lump in his throat rapidly growing in size.

 

Inside of the gigantic box was an easel.  And a bunch of canvases.  And enough oil paints to cover every single one of the cabins on the new base.  

 

Steve hadn’t painted in so long.  It had been before Bucky had been drafted, when they had the taken art classes side by side.  He reached in and pulled out the little scrap of red paper with sloppy, slanted cursive writing.

 

_ If you really want to give me a return gift, I wouldn’t be opposed to a Steve Rogers original.  Enjoy yourself, Steve.  Love, Darcy. _

 

Steve blinked back tears and began digging into the box with fervor, yanking out the easel and setting it on his little porch.  He went back into the box and grabbed a blank canvas and a set of brushes before going back for as many paints as he could grab onto.  He looked around at the landscape and smiled.  

 

He knew exactly what he was going to paint.

 

* * *

 

 

**December 15th**

 

“Steve?” Helen whispered, as Steve continued to paint.  He’d taken a few breaks, including a four hour one where he’d napped on the couch before getting right back up an hour before the sunrise and heading back out to his porch again.  

 

“Hmmm?” he smiled absentmindedly as he continued to work, his t-shirt covered in hues of oranges and yellows and mossy greens.  

 

“So---I’m not giving this to you, because in your current state, I’m afraid you’ll paint over it,” Helen nodded in agreement with herself.

 

“What’s that?” Steve finally looked up from his painting.  He grinned when he saw another wrapped box in Helen’s hands and went to reach for it.  She dodged him though and he gave her a wrinkle of his nose, “M’pretty sure that’s for me.”

 

“Yes, but, you’re covered in oil paint,” Helen said with a stern practicality that had been fostered in her through caring for stubborn Avengers who thought that they were indestructible.  “Darcy would  _ kill _ me if I let you get paint on this.”

 

“I won’t, I promise,” Steve nodded, going for the rag to wipe the paint off of his hands.  

 

“And you have to eat breakfast first,” Helen added.  

 

“Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes and looked around the porch.  There was a wrapped sandwich that Cooper had dropped off for him the night before for dinner.  The boy hadn’t forced the food on him, because he’d just sat on the porch behind Steve and watched him paint as if it were a live theatre version of Bob Ross.

 

He shoved the sandwich into his mouth and chewed obnoxiously at the mother hen of a doctor that he happily called his friend on most days where she wasn’t nagging about how he couldn’t rely on the serum alone to keep him healthy and whole.

 

“Also, you have to go find a jacket or sweatshirt, it’s thirty-eight degrees out here, and you’re wearing a t-shirt,” Helen added, holding the package as far away from Steve as she could, knowing he was perfectly capable of swiping the thing from her.

 

“Killjoy,” Steve grumbled, but walked into the cabin and put on the cozy and warm sweatshirt that already had oil stains on it from when he and Sam had to repair the quinjet for Natasha.  “Happy now?”

 

“Sure,” Helen rolled her eyes at him and she opened the box for him.  

 

“Wow...is that my jacket?” Steve blinked at it.  It was a brown leather bomber jacket that Howard Stark had preserved and had been given to Steve by Nick Fury shortly after he had woken up from the ice.   “I left that---I left that at the New York facility.”

 

“Yeah, you did,” Helen nodded.  “Good thing that I have a loyal lab monkey who is terrified of Darcy and was willing to do her bidding.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve grinned.  He loved that jacket.  No matter how far modern technology had come, they didn’t make jackets like that anymore.

 

Helen put the box down on the chair on the opposite end of the porch.  “So---are you allowed to have people watch you, or does that stifle your artistic brilliance?”

 

“That depends,” Steve shrugged.

  
“On?” Helen prodded.

 

“Are you planning on nagging me anymore?” Steve wondered.  

 

“That’s part of the present, I thought you knew that,’ Helen rolled her eyes.  “I’ll stop nagging.  Now, tell me about what you’re painting.  And is that little thing right there what I think it is?”

 

Steve grinned.  “Yeah.  It is.  Do you think she’’ll like it?”

 

Helen shook her head in amusement and said with as much conviction as she could, “Steve, she’s going to  _ love  _ it.”

 

* * *

 

**December 16th**

 

“HE LIVES!” Laura mocked as Steve walked into the main cabin, paint flecks still on his cheek even after the repeated attempts to was them off.  “Thanks for occupying my kids all yesterday afternoon.  Mama enjoyed her time off.”

 

“I don’t want to hear about your mama time,” Steve arched a very serious brow at the Barton matriarch.

 

“Mama had a  _ real good time _ ,” Laura persisted.     
  


“So---what’s my gift today?” Steve wondered with gleeful anticipation.  

 

Laura smiled up at him in appreciation of the innocent joy on his face.  She wondered when the last time had been that he’d felt that way.  She was glad that Darcy had gone through with her plan, even though Steve was the only one getting presents.  She could think of no one more deserving of all the little bits of joy.

 

“Okay, just---give me a minute,” Laura nodded, going to the freezer and pulling out a ziploc baggie that contained a roll of cookie dough.  She turned on the oven and took a sharp knife (probably one of Natasha’s), and sliced the cookie dough into discs.

 

Steve salivated when he realized it was chocolate chip cookies.  He’d not had them for sixteen days.  And they really were his favorite.  That and the brownies.  And also the cinnamon rolls.

 

Laura gave him a smile before reaching into her back pocket and pulling out an envelope.

 

“Read it, and when you’re through, you can burn the roof of your mouth on the cookies.”

 

Steve hesitated when he recognized the tilted slant of the lettering on the envelope.  It was Tony’s writing.  He ripped the envelope open anyway and took a deep breath before reading.

 

_ Dear Steve, _

 

_ Rhodey won’t let this “Tony Stank” thing go.  So thanks for that. _

 

_ Also.  Thanks for the phone. _

 

_ No matter what’s happened, I’m glad that if I need you, you’re a phone call away.  Just know that the same applies to me. Just---send a smoke signal. _

 

_ Or have Darcy do it for you.  Since she’s the one forcing me to handwrite a letter like I’m stinking Jane Austen or some crap.  And now that I’ve formally accepted your meager olive branch and offered my own in turn, tell the future Mrs. America to give me my AI system back.  I’m sick of being rickrolled awake. _

_ T. Stank. _

 

Steve read the letter through three times before Laura slid a plate of cookies under his nose.  

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled before grabbing a still piping hot cookie and cramming it into his mouth.  

 

“Was it bad?” Laura wondered.

  
“No---just, Tony being Tony,” Steve shrugged.  “We’re never going to see eye to eye.”

 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Laura insisted.  “The world was built on people not seeing eye to eye and  challenging each other to make it better.  That’s why it’s good to have intermediaries.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, focusing on Darcy’s name in the letter.  He smiled and grabbed another cookie while Laura poured him a glass of milk.  “So---when is my intermediary getting back?”

 

“As soon as she’s finished getting the good gift.”

 

* * *

 

**December 17th**

  
  


The first real severe frost had blanketed their world in crunchy, frozen grass, the ability to see your own breath, and the sudden realization that they would need so much more firewood than they actually had.  

 

Steve checked the old mercury thermometer he had at the doorway to his cabin and wrinkled his nose as it read somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-two degrees.  With the serum, he usually didn't mind any chilly weather, so long as it remained above the freezing mark.  Anything below that and some sort of ingrained annoyance at having been frozen in the Arctic bubbled up and he became irritable and grouchy.  

 

He yanked open the door and despite the fact that the world that greeted him was one of frost and vicious winds from the north, he grinned at the medium sized gift box wrapped up in red and topped with a green velvet bow.  

 

He popped the box open and shook his head in amusement.  It was what he had been initially afraid of when he had turned down Darcy's proposal of the Secret Santa exchange.  The box was filled with knitted items.  A dark blue knitted cap with a cheerful white pom pom on the top of it.  The same blue and white yarn, that was softer than anything he had ever felt before made up a long and perfectly constructed scarf.  But Steve's favorite things were in the bottom of the box.  Fingerless gloves, lined with something warm and soft, and they had a little flap on them that would go over the fingers, turning the knitted gloves into mittens.  

 

The best thing about Darcy's knitting was the fact that it was perfectly imperfect.  She was taught long ago, by one of her older WWII friends.  Steve recognized the work as soon as he saw her own scarf in bright purple and flecks of orange.  It had a hastiness to it, with  _ roughly _ the same amount of stitches on each row.  Everyone had known how to knit back during the war, but soldiers especially seemed to knit fast and dirty, getting the job done, but never well enough for it to be particularly admired or valued.

 

Darcy knitted like that.  She went as quick as she could and if the scarf was a different width from one end to the other, the wearer of it didn't care so much, so long as it was soft and kept their neck warm.  

 

The gloves were particularly well done though, and Steve knew she must have spent extra time on it, even though her self-diagnosed ADHD would have had her itching to do something else with each delicate stitch.

 

He had feared getting something like that from her.  The care and thoughtfulness put into every square inch of it seeming like something he could never repay.  He still felt a little like that, but Laura's dogged lectures seemed to be finally sinking in.  

 

It wasn't about repaying the gift.  It was truly enjoying the gift and making the gift giver's effort worth it.  

 

He wrapped himself in the finery and went out to face the small little corner of the world he and his friend were carving out for themselves, intent on putting the warm winter finery to good use.

 

* * *

 

 

**December 18th**

  
  


The phone that Maria Hill had handed off to him days ago woke Steve up at three in the morning.  He sat up, immediately alert in bed and scrambled for the phone he had been faithfully putting on the charger every night before going to sleep.

 

"Darcy?  Where are you? Are you alright?" Steve asked with quick and panicked desperation.

 

"Hmmm," Natasha hummed.  "Interesting."

 

"Where is she?  I talked to her on this phone a few days ago," Steve was up and out of the bed, fumbling with the closest thing he had to a tactical uniform.  The pants were similar to his old uniform, made of the same strong stuff, but were very dark blue, almost black.  He didn't have a top for it yet, Clint was still working on the logistics of it before putting it together (a lifetime of mending his own circus uniforms had given him valuable skills for super hero costume design).  Instead, Steve threw on a thermal henley, then a plaid shirt and topped it off with the leather bomber jacket that Darcy had gifted him.  

 

"We need you to come get us," Natasha said calmly.  "Drive about three hundred miles west on the highway, you'll know where we are."

 

"I'm on my way."

 

Steve made a run for it, heading to the well built garage that usually housed the quinjet and about five vehicles.  He grabbed the fastest one.  A familiar looking corvette that Natasha had loved to drive around obnoxiously ever since their time at work in DC back in 2014.  A three and a half hour drive turned into a two hour and twenty-minute drive and Steve looked around in annoyance, wondering how in the hell he was just supposed to magically know where Natasha and presumably Darcy were.

 

And then he laughed.  Because there was a huge billboard that brightly declared that you could meet Santa if you took the next exit.  He took it and by some miracle, his keen eyes saw a green velvet ribbon marking a tree by a rough and rarely used dirt road just off the exit.  He was expecting to see the quinjet eventually, but was definitely surprised to see an even sleeker little jet.  One he recognized as being one of King T'Challa's.

 

"Nat?" He called out, barely getting the car in park before falling out of it.  

 

"Jesus, punk, what part of clandestine, don't you understand?"

 

"How did he stay alive during World War II?" Natasha asked blithely.  

 

"Well, it's no surprise that he was thought dead just a few days after me.  I was the one making sure he didn't get his head blown off for being a no stealth loud mouth," Bucky answered as he and Natasha made themselves visible, practically melting out of the treeline.  "Hey punk."

 

"Bucky?" Steve blinked.  His friend was standing in front of him.  Looking like another person entirely.  His hair was short again, clean cut and looking as dapper and suave as he had back before the War.  But what was most interesting was the complete left arm.  The hand of which was shiny and silver and definitely vibranium. "What are you---what's--- _ how _ ?"

 

Bucky smirked at him and tilted his chin to indicate the spot right in the middle of his broad chest.  Right where a green velvet bow was placed.  Steve rushed forward and crushed the velvet as he embraced Bucky in a wickedly strong hug.  He was near tears and Bucky was doing that thing where he squirmed at the end of a hug.  He'd done it when he was a kid.  He'd give out hugs, but didn't like them lasting as long as Steve did.  So he'd squirm.  

 

Which meant---he remembered that.  He remembered doing that and it was natural for him to be doing it again.  Which meant...

 

"You're better?" Steve whispered.

 

"Better," Bucky nodded, squirming and saying, "Jesus, let a fella breathe!"

 

Steve pulled away finally, a grin on his face as he looked between Natasha and Bucky.  Bucky took the slightly crushed green velvet ribbon and handed it off to Steve.

 

"Darcy?" Steve blinked.  "How did she---"

 

"Long story," Natasha shrugged.  

 

"Where is she?" Steve worried, looking at the jet hopefully.

 

"This has got to be returned to Wakanda," Natasha smiled.  "T'Challa's working avidly at making our outdated SHIELD tech better, and insisted that we take the better and more stealthy jet."

 

"Nerds," Bucky grinned.  "I'm surrounded by them.  Stevie, just to let you know, you're girl is a huge nerd.  I kind of love her."

 

"The nerds figured out how to fix your brain," Natasha reminded him.  

 

"Which is why I kind of love her, doll," Bucky smirked.  He winked at her and assured her, "Don't worry, Red.  You know who I kind of love the most."

 

"Yeah, I'm looking at him," Natasha rolled her eyes at Steve, her voice dry and acerbic, but her smile on her face betraying her for the first time ever.  She was happy.  Well and truly happy.  

 

Steve had no way of knowing that Natasha had spent the last six months diligently trying to pave the way to bring Bucky back.  He had no way of knowing that she was not doing it for Steve, but for her own selfish reasons.  But one thing Steve did know, and it was that look on Bucky's face.  He'd looked at that auburn-headed lass come straight over from Ireland back in 1924, when he'd announced loudly to any and all who would listen that he was boots deep in love with her.  His grin had been the same.

 

"Darcy?" Steve questioned again.

 

"You and Barnes are going to go and retrieve her," Natasha nodded.  "She had to fly commercial out and back in to keep up the cover.  International arrivals, MWI.  You have twenty-four hours till her plane touches down."

 

"You not coming with, Red?" Bucky pouted.  "We can leave T'Challa's fancy jet here, it's got the cloaking device."

 

"I'll meet you all back at home," Natasha assured them.  

 

Steve's eyes widened when the redhead grabbed a fistful of Bucky's cozy and soft looking sweatshirt and yanked him forward, pressing what Steve assumed was an all too brief kiss against Bucky’s smile.  

 

"Doll, not in front of the punk," Bucky playfully chastised her.  

 

"He's gotta see it someday," Natasha smirked.  "How's he ever going to learn to do it for himself if he doesn't?"

 

"I'd wager this Darcy kid might help him with the learning of it," Bucky waggled his eyebrows at Steve, who was turning as bright as a tomato.  "C'mon, punk.  It's a fourteen hour drive to the airport, and I'd like to get to a decent hotel and sleep in a nice bed."

 

* * *

 

**December 19th**

 

Steve had fallen asleep face first on the large queen bed in the double room he and Bucky were sharing right by the airport.  He'd been so excited about seeing Darcy, that he'd set five different alarms and requested three wakeup calls from the concierge.  And then he hadn't been able to close his eyes until about two hours ago, mid-sentence to Bucky, who had wanted to hear all about what had been happening with Steve while he had slept away in peaceful cool sleep in Wakanda for the last eight months.

 

The first alarm on Steve's phone began blaring, followed immediately by the alarm on the bedside table, then followed by his second alarm on his phone, and then the ringing of the hotel phone.

 

"What?" Steve popped up to sitting, underestimating the springiness of the mattress and finding that his momentum had him rolling right off the end of the bed and flat on his ass.  He looked around as the alarms blared, rumpled with sleep and confusion.  

 

"I'd forgotten you were such a mess in the morning," Bucky smirked at him as he walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered and already changed.  "I'm sad I missed the fall though.  It doesn't make me feel guilty laughing now that you got padding on your rear to cushion the fall."

 

"Cram it, jerk," Steve rolled his eyes fondly.  

 

"Rude!" Bucky called after him as Steve made a beeline for the bathroom.  "Your rudeness makes a guy want to go back to the cold sleep, pal!"

 

Steve realized half an hour later, as he sat in the passenger seat and allowed Bucky to drive the corvette around and around the airport arrival terminal in a circuit, that he had perhaps chosen the wrong car.  The corvette had certainly gotten them to where they needed to go quickly, but it had very limited seating options for a party of three.  The backseat was practically non-existent.  

 

"I'm not sitting back there, Stevie," Bucky grumbled, knowing what his best friend was thinking as he kept glancing worriedly at the tiny backseat.  "I love you, pal. I do, but you put me in that volkswagen in Germany, and Wilson had moved his seat back on purpose to knock into my knees.  It's not happening again."

 

"But she's a lady," Steve pouted.

 

"You can't pull that bottom lip out on me, no more," Bucky reminded him.  Steve had tried to pull the bottom lip pout on him the day prior, right before Bucky had shoved the last piece of pizza into his own mouth, and away from Steve's bottomless stomach.  "I am a hardened weapon of mass destruction.  Steve Rogers' baby blues can't make me give up food or comfort anymore."

 

"She's a sweet lady, you'll see, and you'll feel bad about letting her have the backseat," Steve chided him.

 

"I'm not letting her have the backseat.  I'm the driver.  You're letting her have the backseat," Bucky laughed.  "You're the jerk, now."

 

"But---I'd drive," Steve blinked at his friend innocently.

 

"If you think I'm giving up the wheel to this fine piece of machinery OR the opportunity to sit next to a pretty lady who helped to save my fragile and tender mind, you got lots of other things comin', pal," Bucky gave him the stink eye.

 

And that was how, when the corvette pulled up the corner where Darcy, dressed to the nines in sky high heels and a little black dress that had both boys' jaws dropping (Bucky a little and Steve a lot), Steve was already sitting in the backseat, his limbs looking more like a compact, muscular pretzel than anything else.  

 

"Hi, Darcy," he beamed at her. 

 

"Ma'am," Bucky waggled his eyebrows at her.  "I believe you need a ride?"

 

"Charmer," Darcy pulled off her expensive looking sunglasses and heaved a large, designer purse into the car towards the backseat, where Steve grabbed it from her.  She slid into the passenger's seat and looked back at Steve apologetically.

 

"I could have sit in the back," Darcy smiled at him shyly.

 

"Don't be silly, kid," Bucky waved off her concern as he peeled away from the curbside.  "Stevie's got plenty of room back there, don't ya?"

 

"I'm fine, really," Steve nodded eagerly.  He gave her a soft, genuine smile and shook his head in amazement.  "Darcy, I don't know how to start thanking you."

 

"Oh, then, don't," Darcy winked at him.  "It was my pleasure, and if I'm not mistaken, we still have a few days before Christmas is here."

 

"Please, you don't have to give me anything else," Steve shook his head.

 

"That's a pity," Darcy said with mock exasperation.  She reached her hand out and grabbed the big purse.  She opened it and pulled out a wrapped box.  "Mr. Barnes, would you like this instead?”

 

"I'd be delighted to accept whatever you were willing to give me, kid," Bucky flirted shamelessly while Steve began to stew in the backseat.

 

Inside the little box were an assortment of french pastries and baked delights.  Including what looked like perfectly made Madeleines.  Steve's favorite.  Aside from the brownies.  And the chocolate chip cookies.  And the cinnamon roll.  

 

Bucky let out a little whistle of appreciation before diving right in, the right bastard.  He pulled one of the buttery madeleines out and popped the whole thing in his mouth.  He let out a pornographic moan and Steve actually wrinkled his nose in annoyance at his friend.  

 

"Oh, Stevie, thank you for saying no to this looker's generous gift," Bucky was in near raptures that sounded almost genuine as Darcy giggled.  "Those taste like what we had that day in Dernier's old home town...delicious."

 

"Shoulda left you in the freezer," Steve grumbled under his breath.  

 

* * *

 

 

**December 20th**

 

Thanks to Darcy's much smaller bladder and the meandering path that Bucky took them on (just to torment Steve's poor joints), they didn't arrive back to base until later that night.  So late, that it was actually after midnight, and technically, the 20th of December.  

 

Natasha was already back, unsurprisingly.  She was standing next to the souped up quinjet that T'Challa had refurbished with all of the best tech that Wakanda had to offer, smirking as she watched Steve try to dis-compact himself from the back seat.  

 

"You alright there, pal?" Bucky smirked down at him.

 

"Screw you," Steve said with all the good natured venom that he might have had back in 1944, when Bucky had done something similarly asshole-ish.  

 

"Natalia, Steve is being rude," Bucky tattled.

 

"James, come along, it's time to go home," Natasha's voice was clearly a tempting invitation, because Bucky whole heartedly gave up trying to needle Steve.  

 

Instead he gave his friend a quick hug, before giving Darcy a longer one and a smack of his lips against her temple for good measure.  She giggled as he hightailed it for Natasha, wrapping a new metal arm around her shoulders and walking towards  _ home _ .  Steve couldn't help the wide grin on his face at the sight of it.  His best pal, walking home with his dame.  

 

"How'd you do it?" Steve whispered, watching 'James' and 'Natalia' walk away.  His question was meant for Darcy, who was standing right next to him, smiling just as stupidly at the departing couple as Steve was.  

 

"Hmm?" She blinked and looked up at Steve with some confusion.  "Do what?"

 

"Everything?" Steve shrugged.  "I would have been happy with just the cinnamon roll that first morning.  And you---"

 

"Steve, it wasn't just me," Darcy insisted.  "Everyone helped.  We just---you deserve a good Christmas."

 

"It is, it's---I don't know that I've ever been this happy," Steve admitted.  He turned to face her fully and was astonished when his hand darted out and gripped her around the shoulder gently.  He smiled down at her, his eyes darting over her pretty face, her cheeks slowly starting to turn pinker, from the cold or his touch, he didn't know.  "I---thank you, Darcy."

 

"You're welcome," Darcy murmured.

 

His smile turned a little softer and he could feel his own cheeks heating up as he stepped closer to her, his chin turning down as his hand drifted from her shoulder to run up and down her bicep.  Her blinks were becoming more prolonged with each swipe of her eyelashes against dusty, pink cheeks and she angled her whole face up to his and Steve felt butterflies violently swirling inside of him as his eyes watched her plump limps purse and pucker in anticipation.

 

And then he yawned.

 

Really, really violently.

 

To her credit, Darcy just laughed. 

 

"Sorry--I, sorry," Steve stammered.  "I didn't sleep a lot in the last few days---I'm just.  Jesus, I'm fucking awful."

 

Darcy laughed even louder, one little genuine giggle snort sneaking through, causing Steve's annoyance at himself to dissipate as he stared down at her in wonder.  

 

"Okay, go to sleep, Steve," Darcy ordered.  "We'll finish this some other day."

 

"In the morning?" Steve asked hopefully.

 

"Maybe, I might need a little extra R&R after my adventure," Darcy shrugged.  She yawned this time, not quite as loud and violent as Steve, but still, she was clearly exhausted after her mysterious journey.  She popped up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on Steve's cheek.  "Good night, Steve.  Sweet dreams."

 

Steve nodded dumbly and watched her walk away, before walking back to his own cabin in a haze.  When he went to take his jacket off, he realized the pocket was heavier than usual.  Inside of it was a little book shaped package, wrapped in red paper and with a green velvet bow on top.  After unwrapping it, he realized it was a leather bound journal, just like the kind that Peggy used to write in back during the war.

 

He blinked at it curiously and opened it up, and a little handwritten note fell out.

 

"Dear Steve," he read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.  "Lord knows that you are far too much of a gentleman to peek into a lady's journal.  But rest assured, I'm giving you permission.  This is the journal I kept for two years after you stupidly crashed that plane into the Arctic, you massive idiot.  I want you to read it, and I want you to see the journey that I took to take the love I had for you and put it in the special place in my heart that I had always held for you.  And then I opened my heart for another great love.  I hope that you are able to do the same in time and find your own special sort of Daniel to spend the rest of your days with.  Love, Peggy."

  
  
  


Steve sighed and looked at the journal, then looked outside, to where it was well past midnight now.  There was no way he'd be able to sleep with such a thing in his hands.  He nodded and sprawled out on his own comfortable bed and opened the diary to the first page.

 

"Steve has been missing for the last eighteen hours.  He is a colossal shit for doing this."

 

Steve chuckled and nodded.  It would definitely be an entertaining enough read to keep him awake.

 

* * *

 

 

**December 21st**

 

Bucky had joined Steve in his cabin the next day, amazed to see that a red eyed Steve hadn't even gone to sleep.  He'd read through Peggy's journal and had been staring at the last page with unseeing eyes as he tried to digest it all.  Bucky had placed a large plate of cinnamon rolls on the coffee table in front of Steve, before taking the requisite green velvet bow and placing it on the stack of bows Steve had collected.

 

"Alright, spill," Bucky asked softly.

 

"Just---I've caused a lot of heartache in my life," Steve said softly.

 

"Yeah?  So what?  I started revolutions," Bucky shrugged.  "What's that got to do with the price of eggs these days?"

 

Steve shrugged.  "I'd have to be some sort of sadist to want to risk another dame's heart like that."

 

"Are you fucking serious right now, Rogers?" Bucky shook his head slowly in dismay.  "Life is hard.  You may have been the poster boy for war bonds back in the day, but I'm the poster boy for life, and life being a son of a fucking ripe ass bitch."

 

"Watch your mouth around the kids," Steve said absent mindedly.

 

"I heard Nathaniel say Fuck this morning, believe me pal, the Bartons need to look in house to keep bad language from their kids," Bucky rolled his eyes.  He reached out and put the metal hand on Steve's shoulder.  "Life sucks.  Heaven'll be better, but we gotta get through this shit show first.  And in the meantime, why not take the little bits of heaven left scattered over this dirty, cold Earth?"

 

Bucky reached for the large platter full of cinnamon rolls and tore one off, jamming as much as he could in his mouth.  He groaned sinfully. 

 

"That dame of yours---"

 

"Not my dame," Steve corrected.

 

"Not your dame yet," Bucky amended.  "She's got a fair hand in the kitchen.  And a fair hand in lifting important little books off of very dangerous people.  And she's got a good and loving heart and I think, probably a good deal of heaven somewhere on her person.  So you should probably grab her up and not let her go until you're ready to shake off---what did Father Jacobs call it?"

 

"The mortal coil," Steve chuckled.

 

"Life every moment you can, as much as you can, and as fiercely as you damned well can, Stevie," Bucky advised.  "No one else is gonna live your life for you, so you might as well do it.  We seem to be in a good spot here, safe.  It's as good a time as any to try to---live."

  
  


* * *

 

 

**December 22nd**

 

Steve was hoping that when he opened the door on the twenty-second that there would be a personal delivery from his not so secret Santa.  But the box was there, and Darcy wasn't anywhere to be seen.  He sighed and opened it up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he moved the tissue paper to reveal...a gun.

 

He heard the shot and it was only thanks to his super serum enhanced reflexes that he was able to move just enough to avoid the paint pellet that splattered against his door frame.  Bright purple paint, in the exact shade of Clint’s personal favorite color.

 

The roar of the golf cart, that Sam had spent far too many hours on making 'turbo charged' echoed in the cold morning air.  Laura Barton sat behind the wheel, a smirk on her face and a baby Nathaniel strapped into the backseat.

 

"The rules are simple, Steve," she relayed.  "You get paint on you, you're dead.  And do you know what dead people do?"

 

"Go to heaven?" Steve asked hopefully.

 

"If heaven is a dirty latrine, then sure," Laura winked before speeding off.  Her voice was gleeful as she shouted, "Second rule is that there are no rules!"

 

Five hours later, Laura drove by Steve's hiding space of a little cave near his cabin.  

 

"Four men left standing, well, three men, one lady," Laura revealed.  "And let's be real, Clint's probably laying in an upper tree branch somewhere, waiting to pick you off."

 

"Wow, didn't think I stood a chance," Steve smiled.

 

"You hid really well, while Darcy and Bucky formed an alliance and took down nearly everyone else," Laura arched an eyebrow at Steve.  “Including  _ Natasha _ .”

 

"OWWW MOTHERFUCKER!" Clint screamed in the distance as his body clearly fell from the tree he had been laying in, hitting multiple branches on the way down.  "FUCK YOU, BARNES!"

 

"I heard you called me the world's second best marksman," Bucky shouted back at the man.  "Don't cry in front of your kids, it'll give them a complex."

 

Laura chuckled and looked to Steve dubiously, "Honestly, Steve, how long do you think you can hide?"

 

"Forever?" Steve wondered hopefully.

 

"Hmmm...you do know it's last person standing?  Darcy and Bucky are going to have to duke it out.  Might be nice if she had another super soldier to rescue her from paintball death," Laura shrugged before speeding off again.

 

Steve heard Darcy's shriek in the distance and sighed.  Bucky had turned against his ally.  Obviously.  Steve took off at a sprint towards the sound of Darcy's shriek and was unsurprised to see Bucky standing there, pointing a gun at him.

 

"Where's Darcy?" Steve wondered.

 

"Paintball heaven," Bucky shrugged.

 

"Not very gentlemanly of you," Steve shook his head.

 

"I saw Darcy take out Wilson when he was trying to take a leak, she's no lady with a paintball gun in her hand," Bucky chuckled at the fond, recent memory.  He held up his gun and was ready to shoot.

 

"Hey!" Steve pointed to a spot of paint on Bucky's thigh.  "You're already dead."

 

"Oh, hey, you're right," Bucky shook his head.  "Well I'll be darned."

 

"Which means---I win?" Steve grinned.

 

"I don't know, does he win, Kid?" Bucky grinned past Steve.

 

Steve winced when he felt the paint pellet hit the fleshiest part of his rear end.  He turned to see Darcy grinning at him in vicious victory.  

 

"Nope.  I win," Darcy winked at Steve, who had the good grace to fall to the floor of the leaf strewn forest and play dead.  

 

"Sneaky little thing, she is, she shot me dead half a second after I got Barton outta the tree," Bucky admitted, helping Steve up.

 

"I take paintball very seriously," Darcy admitted.  She grinned down at Steve and said, "Did you have fun?"

 

"A lot of fun, thank you Darcy."

 

* * *

 

 

**December 23rd**

 

Steve probably should not have made a really disappointed face when he opened the door and saw Sam standing there with a red gift wrapped box with a velvety green bow.

 

"Ouch, dude," Sam scoffed at him.  "You get Growly McMurderFace turned back to Smirky McMeltYourPantsOff and now I'm chopped liver?  Rude."

 

"Sam, I didn't mean it that way," Steve shook his head, suddenly concerned that Sam was jealous of Bucky being back.

 

Sam couldn't help but laugh at Steve.  "I'm just messing man.  I know who you wanted to see instead of me, and it definitely wasn't Barnes."

 

"No, you're right," Steve nodded.

 

"Although it is a brunette," Sam smirked.  

 

Steve smiled sheepishly and said, "Yeah.  A brunette."

 

"Cool, cause Wanda wants to date Sharon, if that's cool with you," Sam blurted.  "And me.  I mean...it's kind of complicated but---"

 

"Sam, you go chase your little piece---little pieces of heaven," Steve held up his hands, his expression the textbook definition of 'please don't say anymore'.

  
  


"Awesome," Sam smiled to himself.  He waved the gift box in front of Steve and said, "So---present?"

 

"Sure, where's the gift giver, though?" Steve wondered.

 

"Something about having to spend eighteen hours cooking and baking today for the two day holiday feast?" Sam shrugged.  "I left when she started to make grunting noises at pie dough.  We're all banned from the main house if we can't be of assistance."

 

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Steve took the box from Sam and opened it.  Inside were tickets.  Ten of them.  For Disney on Ice.  

 

"Taking the kids," Sam answered.  "And Barton.  And Wanda.  And Helen.  And Scott."

 

"And Bucky?" Steve blinked.

 

"The shiny metal arm is coming in handy for Laura and Darcy," Sam rolled his eyes.  He would rather jump off the side of a cliff than have to reiterate the raptures the ladies went into about Bucky's ability to tirelessly mix and whisk with that arm.  The phrase 'sexier than a kitchenaid' had been uttered.

  
  


"Disney on ice?" Steve couldn't help but look a little unimpressed.

 

"Apparently it's supposed to be amazing.  Even Coop is excited," Sam admitted.  "Barton's getting the kids in the van, c'mon," Sam shrugged.  "You have ten minutes.  Also, if you've got cash, I'm sure we'll be able to stop somewhere and pick up gifts.  You know, if you want to give them to anybody.  Or someone in particular."

 

Steve rolled his eyes at his friend before reaching into his cabin and grabbing his leather jacket.  He shrugged it on and gave Sam a considering look.

 

"So Wanda---and Sharon?" Steve nearly whispered.

 

"Yeah," Sam nodded.  He gave Steve a sly grin and admitted, "It's pretty freaking awesome."

 

* * *

 

 

**December 24th**

 

Disney on Ice had been absolutely mind blowing.  Steve had never seen such a spectacle.  He had held Nathaniel the entire time, and they had both had identical expressions on throughout the entire show, that being incredibly gobsmacked and giddy.  Steve had spent a fair bit of his cash on souvenirs for the kids, so that when they stopped by the department store on the way home, he didn't have very much money to spend on a present for Darcy.

 

And when he had made a quick perusal of what the store had had to offer, he hadn't been that inspired.  Nothing seemed to be good enough.  Especially when compared to what she had done for him in the last twenty-four days.  

 

Clint had taken all of his kids to the table of cheap jewelry, where nothing cost much more than five dollars, and all of it was guaranteed to rust or turn Laura's skin green.  But that didn't stop Clint from encouraging all the kids to pick out one thing a piece for their respective mothers.  

 

Because apparently, it didn't matter what was given.  It just mattered that it WAS given.  

 

Steve picked out a little silver locket that cost seven dollars and fifty cents.  He'd had to borrow pennies from Cooper in order to pay for the thing completely.

 

He made his way to the main cabin and grinned when he saw the biggest, greenest bow of all time wrapped around the stairway railing.  

 

When he opened the door, he was hit in the face with an over abundance of smells and sounds.  Christmas music was blaring from the excessively decorated common room.  Glittery popcorn strings, strands of white lights and snowflake chains that the little kids had cut out for the past few days were strung here, there and everywhere.  It smelled like cinnamon and yeasty bread and sweet things and slowly baking ham.  His arrival was little noticed, as everyone was preoccupied in laughing conversation with everyone else.  

 

Even Bucky and Sam seemed to be getting along.  Sort of.  They were fighting over one of the bean bags that the kids would sit in when they played their video games.

 

Darcy was in the kitchen, with a cute little Santa Claus apron on as she worked the four eternal fire ovens.  Wanda was sitting at a kitchen counter with Cooper and Cassie, and she was magicking a wall of a gingerbread house into place.  A newly arrived Sharon was sitting next to her and gave a smile and a nod to Steve.  

 

Steve contented himself to sit at the kitchen island, watching all of the people that had taken up such important roles in his life.  Clint was trying to entertain the baby while Laura worked at side dishes with a recently arrived Dave, who had presumably come in with Sharon.  A month ago, Steve would have known their schedules better than they had, but his own month had been a whirlwind, and he found himself not obsessing over every move his team made, but instead, wondering about their general wellbeing.  

 

Dave seemed to be happy in Scott's company again.  Maybe he'd like to come home more often.  Maybe he'd like it if Scott came out to visit.  He watched as Dave flirted with Helen with surprising shyness.  Steve smirked.  Definitely Dave might like to visit more.

 

Laura needed more than just one day off, clearly.  They'd all start shouldering more of the culinary work, so long as Laura and Darcy were willing to teach.  Laura had a bright mind with legal matters.  Maybe she'd like to do some more of that.  They could always use someone who could get the heroes out of all the messes they got into.

 

There were so many little things he could do, he realized as Darcy passed him on the island, giving his shoulder a squeeze.  He reached up and held her hand for a moment, smiling down at her when she handed him a cookie.

 

"Merry Christmas, Darcy," he said genuinely.

 

"Merry Christmas, Steve," she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  

 

He put the cookie down on the counter and for once in his life was actually smooth and sure in his movements, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest in a tight embrace.  He held her there as long as he dared.  Until Cassie Lang opened her mouth and started making teasing little ' _ oohhhhing _ ' noises.

 

He let up on his tight hold and Darcy pulled away enough to look up at him with those beguiling blue-green eyes.  

 

"Can I do anything to help?" he wondered.

 

"Eat that cookie," Darcy nodded.  "You're going to need your strength to help me lift that thirty pound bird up and into the brine."

 

* * *

 

 

**December 25th**

 

Steve had never remembered a Christmas Eve quite like that.  It had been full of friends and family, loud and bright and beautiful.  There had been so much food, and music and just downright joy.  

 

Natasha had dressed up as Santa Claus, causing Nathaniel to very likely wet himself as he went into gleeful raptures.  She'd gifted each child with one gift that Natasha had likely picked up on her journey to bring Bucky back.  It seemed to be the one toy each child desperately needed.

 

It was getting close to ten at night when the last child had finally fallen asleep sprawled out in the little tent and sleeping bag city they had constructed.  Luis had zipped two sleeping bags together and bunkered down in tent town, and most of the adults had followed suit.  Including Darcy.

 

Which was fine by Steve, because he managed to get everything all set up way before dawn's early light.

 

Darcy blinked her eyes open from her comfortable place on the couch in the common room.  It was about twenty minutes before dawn, and normally Darcy couldn't have been bothered to ever open her eyes at such an hour.  But Christmas was the exception, and she was up and looking around at the other congregation of children and adults sleeping in the common room.  Aside from Sam, Sharon and Wanda, two other people were notably missing.  

 

Darcy carefully eased Cassie to lay against the couch instead of Darcy's own body.  The little girl didn't stir, the late night and the excitement of Christmas Eve keeping her down for the count, for now.  Darcy grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself before finding her slippers that had been abandoned last night after a wicked game of twister versus Natasha (where Natasha had firmly trounced her).

 

She carefully opened the door and let herself out into the cold dawn.  She let out a little gasp at what she saw.

 

One of the biggest Christmas trees she had ever seen, standing right in front of the cabin, dusted with a small bit of snow and lit up with bright white lights.  She peered at it and couldn't help but let out a breathless sort of chuckle at the sight of paper chains made out of shiny red wrapping paper and little bright green velvet bows standing out against the dark evergreen.  

 

Beneath the tree were piles of presents, all wrapped in newspaper, of all things, which meant that Darcy DEFINITELY knew who was responsible for the Christmas miracle.

 

Steve and Bucky were rapidly tying more bows on the tree, working against the clock as the sun began to try and peek over the horizon, intent on waking the sleepiest of children inside the main cabin.

 

"Wow," Darcy announced her presence, although she was sure Bucky had known she was there the entire time, he was just really intent on getting the tree decorated as a fine bit of wispy snow fell to the ground.  "Santa got hot."

 

"Thanks, kid," Bucky winked at her, tying off the last ribbon as Steve strung the last bit of paper chain.  

 

"What did you two do?" Darcy wondered.

 

"I didn't do much," Bucky shrugged.  "Just wrapped presents and helped decorate this beast of a tree.  It was Stevie's idea."

 

Steve grinned at Darcy, and Bucky was a good enough wingman to know when to melt into the darkness.  He went and hugged the girl first, because he knew he owed her still.  Natalia wouldn't tell the details of the mission, for fear the story would get back to Steve, but he knew Darcy's part in making him well again was more dangerous than either woman let on.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Darcy said softly as she stepped towards Steve.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Steve nodded.  He reached out and wrapped his hand around hers.  “I have a present for you, it isn’t nearly---enough.”

 

“We need to watch more sappy Christmas movies together,” Darcy wrinkled her nose at him.  “Then you’ll understand the whole philosophy behind gifts.”

 

“C’mon, Darcy,” Steve smiled, pulling her away from the Christmas tree.  “My gifts are in my cabin.”

 

“That seems like a cheesy kind of plot to get me back to your quarters, Steve,” Darcy laughed.  “Which you don’t need by the way.  I’ll stop by whenever you want.”

 

“Now who is being cheesy,” Steve taunted as they made their way through the cold, snowy morning.  They got to his steps and he nodded, looking down at her in concern as she shivered.  “Come on, inside, you must be freezing.  Jesus, Darcy, are you wearing real shoes?”

 

“They’re Thor slippers,” Darcy defended her comfortable, ridiculous footwear.  She was ushered in anyway and grinned when Steve pulled the scarf from the front peg and wrapped it around her neck.  

 

“Wait here,” Steve encouraged.  

 

He rushed off to his bedroom and came back out quickly with two packages wrapped in newspaper.  One large and one very small.  He gave her the choice of what to open first and laughed when she made greedy grabbing hands at the big package.

 

“Oh, Steve,” she gasped when she ripped the paper and revealed a beautifully painted canvas.

 

It was the pretty wilderness just outside of Steve’s cabin, at the height of summer.  There were two little figures dwarfed by the massive trees.   One of the hazy little people was bigger than the other, and they were standing close, looking at each other, and the littlest one had her hand on the bigger one’s arm and a sort of brightness was exuding from it illuminating the bigger figure’s entire body in a glowy haze.

 

“I remember this,” Darcy whispered.  “This is the day we met.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, his voice quiet and rough.  “It was a really good day.”

 

Darcy looked up her eyes shining with tears.  

 

“It’s for me?” she asked hopefully.

 

“Of course it’s for you,” Steve gave her an earnest smile.  

 

“Thank you,” she breathed.  

 

Steve kind of got why she and his friends would have gone to all the trouble of the last month.  Because seeing her genuine astonishment and happiness at receiving such a simple thing as a painting was filling him with a warmth that promised to stay with him for a long time to come.  He watched for a moment as she stared intensely at the painting, her eyes darting to little details that he had managed to trick onto the canvas.  

 

He didn’t seem to want to wait to give her the second gift though and eased the canvas out of her hands, giving her the smaller package next with a schoolboy smile full of innocence and charm.  She tore into that one with enthusiasm as well and let out a little squeal when the cheap little locket was revealed.

 

Steve groaned, he had left the damned price tag on it.

 

Darcy didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care because she pet at the simple silver heart and went immediately to open it.  Steve stopped her though and made sure the locket was level before carefully opening the little locket to reveal dozens of little scraps of paper with incredibly small writing on each little scroll.  

 

Darcy squinted and read what she could aloud, “Go sledding.  Get a New Year’s kiss.  Take a trip for Valentine’s Day.  Take Darcy to Coney Island---Steve, what is this?”

 

“I put in all my hopes for the next year,” Steve admitted sheepishly.  “Sorry if the kiss seems a little for---”

 

Darcy reached out to him and pulled him down so that his lips landed awkwardly on hers.  Steve quickly managed to shut the locket, keeping all his hopes inside before he managed to get his arms around Darcy, and pull her up and into a proper kiss, one that was mostly innocent, except for the little moan building in the back of Steve’s throat at the feel of her pouting lips gently sipping at his own.  

 

“Try not to be disappointed when you don’t get another gift from me today,” Darcy whispered, her lips still grazing his when she pulled away only slightly.  “You kind of just got gift number twenty-five a little early.”

 

“I’ll take twenty-six if you’re amenable to it,” Steve’s little smirk was a thing of beauty.  

 

Darcy let out one of those rare snorts of laughter and shrugged, “You’re getting greedy.”

 

“I might be,” Steve shrugged.  He kissed her quick and sighed.  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Please forgive the vague healing of Bucky Barnes. Just know that Darcy and Natasha did awesome and amazing things).
> 
> Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays!


End file.
